Blue Skies

Here's the thing. I need for you to look over to the right just a tad and put your email into that little spot that says, "Follow By Email". You'll have to do just a tiny bit of work but it'll pay off in the end, I promise. I don't have to write this shit, which I think is obvious since until about a week ago I hadn't written anything since July. It's already in my head, I know what it says, I know all of it, even what I forget to put down here. I know the allusions and half-assed metaphors. I understand it completely. I know who the Christ figure is and what fatal flaws every hero has. I know exactly when the denouement happens. Every single time. I know how it's all going to play out and when I'll take another five or six month break only to pop up out of nowhere, again. I also payed attention in Mrs. Huey's class. I guess what I am trying to say is this, I have a real strong need to know who is reading.

I'll be 37 in a month. Shit has changed. The qualities and characteristics I look for in both friends and companions of a softer nature have changed, substantially, over the last decade. I might go a year without hanging out with people I consider my closest friends. It doesn't matter. I know that things will pretty much be the same when I do see them. I also know that if I need them, they will be there. The same is understood of me, I suppose. I need you to have my back. I need you to be able to back my play, all night, even if you know I am dead wrong. I need you to understand that telling me I'm a damn fool should only be done when no one else is around. I tell you what you get for being able to do those things. You will get exactly the same. All day, every day. I don't care if you think I'm right or not. You can think I'm dead wrong, and you can tell me so. As long as you don't let anyone else know.

You and I can be walking down the street on a sunny summer day and as we pass by other folks you can turn to them and say, "Hey, the sky is PURPLE!" And I'm going to stand there, head tilted a little to the right, eyebrow arched, a scowl waiting to bloom from my face, and wait for someone to say any different. "Purple, are you crazy? The sky is blue." Nope, hell naw, what? "Did you not hear what my amazing walking partner of the day said? The sky is purple." Then you and I will continue on our purple haze shaded way. The discussion is over, the sky is purple, and those other guys are idiots. If they want to press the matter of what primary color the sky is then we can have a dust up in the middle of the boulevard.

That is about as simple and as pure of a relationship as I can imagine. You back my play and I'll back yours. When we get back home and it's just us sitting on the front porch, drinking a beer, and talking about metaphysics or the price of a gallon of gas, then you can call me a dumb ass and we'll laugh. "Purple? You big dummy."

I'm too far into this thing to be worried about having to watch my back. I'm fully committed to seeing things through at this point and I don't have time to worry about who is backing my play. You can call it selfish, self-absorbed, and short sighted. I'm going to call it love, respect, and admiration. And if anyone is around I'll agree with you and you can agree with me.

Two months ago it was the day after I had a routine extraction of a wisdom tooth. I knew something was not right. I mean, shit, I couldn't breath, swallow, or talk. This was not normal. I waited a day or two because I'm a stubborn fool and when I went to the ER, finally, I told the doc, "My throat is not sore, it does not hurt like a sore throat, I have had a sore throat. This is not a sore throat. Something is not right." He, looked inside my mouth, told me I had a sore throat, and sent me home. Two ER visits, three doctors, and a lot of cussing later I finally got someone to listen to me, they did a CT scan and within 10 minutes I was on my way to have emergency throat surgery. Let me quote the smart doctor, "We're calling to see if General has an ENT on call because you've got to have surgery before you die." Hey, thanks doc, I appreciate that. I'm pretty positive that the only people who believed me, backed my play, were my dear mother and father. Mom never left my side and pops was debating whether or not to go strangle the original doctor.

When you commit to loving somebody you commit to backing their play. Save the dissension for later when it won't affect the morale of the troops.